Wednesday, April 29, 2009

In case you're not familiar with what shoemated means, I'll explain in the context of what happened so you can better understand.

The human pet had gotten together with the neighbor lady, i.e., Ingrid, and her daughter, i.e., Kelly. The three of them had been sipping wine and enjoying the evening. They discussed the neighbor lady's new toy, a Trikke, and how it had been working out for her - which, truth be told, wasn't all that well.

The neighbor lady then proceeded to ask the human pet about her upcoming graduation from the University of St. Thomas. This led to a discussion of the pet's parents coming to visit, party plans that include a ladies-only poker night, and of course, what to wear for the graduation ceremony. That conversation then led into general clothes shopping and the neighbor lady's extraordinary style when it came to shoes.

Ingrid's feet have always been in Dansko, and my human pet has been drooling over a pair for ages. As it turns out, the neighbor lady had recently bought a pair of shoes, and she had not liked them. They did not fit her feet as well as she had hoped. Instead, she brought the shoes to the human pet and asked her to try them on so the pet could get an idea of what size she was in Dansko shoes.

The neighbor lady gave the human pet the pair of shoes since they fit so nicely.

The human pet in turn lost it, and by "lost it", I mean she screamed, she cried, she clawed at her chest, and she kept saying, "Oh my God," and "Are you serious?" over and over again.

And that's when I learned a new word thanks to Kelly as she watched the two ladies laugh:

"You two just shoemated!"

Apparently, shoemating is when one female homo sapien gives another female homo sapien a pair of really exotic and expensive shoes and expects nothing in return.

My only hope, though, is that someone will shoemate with me. Sigh... It sounds absolutely delightful, minus the shoe.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

My human pet lacks coordination. It's always been quite easy to lure her down the hallway at 6:00 in the morning, roll over onto my back, and have her trip over my fluffy belly. The pet has now learned to wait and to step over me, but just because she's evolved doesn't mean I stop trying. I had taken great pride in that devious skill, until I read this article at the Los Angeles Times.

Apparently, according to the CDC, 86,000 people are injured every year in falls related to their pets.

And here, I thought I was above being a statistic.

Now, with a little puppy running around, it's even more obvious that this house is statistic-bound. The human pet has fallen in the backyard at least three times now when she has taken the little war god out for his bathroom break. He runs full speed at her, weaving in and out of her legs, and when she is not looking, he lunges for her ankles. Canine and homo sapien become a tangled mess of slobbering, panting, rolling, and let's not forget, cussing.

Maybe we pets could make some sort of X-games sport out of this. I see potential.

Have you given your human pet a good trip lately? I would love to hear about it. Leave it in the comments today, and let's swap details.

Monday, April 27, 2009

This past Saturday, Ares had a date with Dr. Rodriguez. Apparently, the two of them are becoming very close. More on that some time this week...

What disturbs me is this photo the human pet took while Ares visited with his new woman. When you enter Dr. Rodriguez's office, it's tradition to have all of the animals that are coming in for the day to be listed on the welcome sign. I've circled Ares' name in green. Please note the name circled in blue.

WHO IS THIS ZEUS IMPOSTER?!

To the fake Zeus, I can only say that I am now officially on the hunt for you. I will find you, and when I do, I will go Christopher Lambert style upon you for I am Zeus MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. I was born in 1518 in the village of Glenfinnan on the shores of Loch Shiel. And I am immortal.

Friday, April 24, 2009

"I cannot walk past her! She will inhale me into her gaping nostrils of death!"

"I knew I should have never left the caves!"

The fleas that marched behind Harbali seemed restless, agitated, and overall, completely useless. Yes, they were moving forward, but the presence of the long and lean silver infidel had struck a chord of fear into their tiny hearts.

Harbali turned around and faced his nervous brethren, raising his feelers into the air: "The silver infidel is not as wise as the golden one. Look how she sleeps while death approaches. She is clueless!"

From the front, one of the fleas cried, "Perhaps she sleeps as a mere ploy! It is folly to underestimate one's enemy!"

There were murmurings of agreement to this statement, but Harbali waved them away, saying, "I have never known the infidels to 'fake' sleep. They spend nearly 15 to 16 hours of Flallah's day sleeping. If they're 'faking', then they certainly have very pathetic lives to engage in such nonsense."

The throng of fleas all nodded their heads to Harbali's logic:

"He's right - that would be pathetic!"

"Why did we ever doubt him?"

"So much sleep seems so peaceful!"

Harbali could not believe how his brothers were behaving. It was almost as if they thought he were leading them on some sort of field trip. He waved his feelers into the air once more, crying, "Brothers, silence! How can we have a proper jihad if everyone is talking and carrying on?"

The crowd suddenly became quite still, practically frozen. Harbali leaned back and smiled to himself. He was indeed a leader to manage such an unruly group of soldiers. Beaming with pride, he turned around to begin the march when, to his surprise, a pair of golden eyes, a pink, wet nose, and a twitching mouth stood but inches from his body.

"Oh Flallah, have mercy," he whispered.

The silver infidel sat back on her haunches and said casually, "Who's Flallah?"

Harbali, unable to stop the thundering beats of his tiny, miniscule heart, fainted.

Turning to the quivering mass behind the fallen body, the silver infidel said, "Um, I think he might need some help over here."

Whispers and hushed words coagulated in the air while Isis sat still, observing. Finally, a few members of the congregation crept forward and quickly pulled the tiny flea's body back into the safety of the crowd. Isis nodded and then turned to make her way back into the house when cries sprang up behind her:

"Wait! Silver infidel! Wait!"

Isis did not turn around for she absolutely had no clue what an infidel was or that she happened to be one. She had figured out the mystery of the garage, and all she cared about was reporting back to her impatient brother. She passed through the pet door silently, leaving the teeming crowd speechless.

Our planet is so spectacular, it's the only one in the solar system with its own holiday!

(Slightly unknown fact: Uranus Day was considered, but the constant snickering of immature homo sapiens was deafening.)

In honor of this magnificient day, I decided I would calculate my carbon footprint. I was not too happy with the findings. It seems my footprint equals 39 tons of carbon per year, which is above the U.S. average. The number one area holding me back was recycling. I'm going to start doing my part by reusing all of my old litter and shredding paper products around the house for future, nonexistent decoupaging projects.

Is your carbon footprint higher or lower than mine? You can find out here. Post your results in the comments along with any cool conservation tips you might have!

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

"When the boy was born, like all Spartans, he was inspected. If he had been small or puny or sickly or misshapen, he would have been discarded. By the time he could stand, he was baptised in the fire of combat - taught never to retreat, never to surrender, toward the death on the battlefield in service for Sparta was the greatest glory he could achieve in his life."

Monday, April 20, 2009

Last Wednesday, SharynTG asked me in the comments who my favorite goddess was, and I have to admit, I was a bit torn in answering. You see, I know the expectation is to say Isis, but I don't necessarily want the Isis living in my house to get the wrong idea. If she actually thought I liked her for one moment, she might not be so eager to please.

I like having a dependable, mindless lackey so I won't be naming that goddess as my favorite.

After pondering the question and the current situation at my house, it seemed only fitting to name Athena as my favorite. Prior to Isis, there had been an Athena that shared my life: a large, beautiful, fluffy, black cat who was five years my senior. Was she Greek? Perhaps. Her lineage was definitely open to interpretation.

She was indeed a warrior goddess, but instead of being equipped with shield and ray, she fought with two mighty midnight paws. Oh, how I adored her! I would follow her around constantly, attempting to show her my male physique, but just like her namesake, she wanted nothing to do with me. I remember how I tried informing her that in myth, Athena had been born out of Zeus' head, and the next thing I felt was a solid whap to the skull, accompanied by, "How about you bear that instead?"

I could definitely use her around the house now, especially in training a somewhat precocious puppy. Athena was bigger than I am now and certainly knew how to use all of her body to make a point. Her signature move was known as 'cover and smother'. Let me just say that if she were rich, creamy, white gravy, and I were some measly hash browns, she'd drown me in her countrified goodness.

The poop monster should thank his lucky stars that Athena is now reduced to being my spirit guide. Always hunting, always prowling, she remains near, whispering into my ear how best to sabotage little Boston Terriers. Athena always enjoyed fighting - not to draw blood, maim, or kill - but merely for the sport of it. In that way, I have grown to be much like her.

I do hope she is proud. Hopefully though, she hasn't found out about how I took over her sitting spots in the house. (Yes, I was not always the one in power around here. It's hard to believe, I know.) I'm sure she's feverishly waiting to get her paws on me to show me who's the real boss.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Are you ever planning to complete your Flea story? Would love to hear the resolution.

Purrs,

Simba

Dear Simba,

I know my departure from the blogging world put a damper on my story, Flea Games. I definitely have been thinking about it, and now, it seems I may actually have time to finish it. You see, the human pet has been working on several end-of-the-year projects for her final class, and as a result, her work has cut into my computer time. I swear she only ever thinks of herself!

For those of you who may not know about Flea Games, you can catch up by reading the following chapters:

Look for more installments, dear Simba. The human pet has finally turned in everything except for one project so story writing should definitely pick up in the next few days. Thank you for following along on the blog and for sending me your question!

Do you have a question for Zeus? Click on the email logo and send it in! Your question will be featured in an upcoming blog post.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Here in the house, I'm always looking for new ways to battle my number one Litter List offender, cancer. From local car washes, jeans at work, and Guitar Hero World Tour fundraisers, I've seen it all - from a distance. One tried and true staple, though, is the bake sale, and as all felines know, humans absolutely adore their sweet, sumptuous delights.Well, as it just so happens, Bakerella has done it again by designing cupcake pops for a cure. If you're not familiar with how to make the pops, you can find the general directions here. She's also designed cake pops for a multitude of other occasions, but my personal favorite has to be her Hello Kitty pops, though to be honest, it slightly concerns me that I enjoy biting off warm, cakey kitten head goodness.

Mmm, yummy!

Cancer won't know what hit it when it gets popped by these cupcakes!

Good work, Bakerella, in helping fight cancer! I'll be sure to get started right away on baking some of those delicious pops...just as soon as I figure out how to do it without opposable thumbs.

Thank you for following along on the blog! When I found your letter in my email, it reminded me of my experience in Blogathon 2007 where felines, canines, and homo sapiens all around the world sent in their questions to help me make it through 24 hours of nonstop blogging. Those were good times.

I have to say that I don't normally follow entertainment news. I'm more of a casual news watcher at best, and for the most part, I rely on incidental learning, i.e. overhearing it when other homo sapiens are milling about in the house. To find out that Quigon was going to represent me came as quite a shock to say the least.

You see, this issue has come up before, and I thought I had pretty much secured my three top picks should anyone ever have felt the need to make a movie about my life. Considering the depth required for this role, it seemed only right that Sir Anthony Hopkins play me since Sean Bean has been nothing but disastrous (The Hitcher makes me cry for him.), and Adrian Brody has dipped silently off the radar. No one asked me what I thought of Liam Neeson!

Even though no one sought my approval or cared what I thought (which seems to be a common trend for some reason), I still will give my feline blessing to Mr. Neeson. How could I push away the man who won my heart in Love Actually, kicked my ass in Batman Begins, or rescued my daughter from terrorists in France in Taken? He is simply perfect.

Have a question for Zeus? Click on the email logo in the sidebar, and send it!

Monday, April 13, 2009

The human pet took the raggedy one to Dr. Rodriguez's office on Saturday morning. Apparently, she needed to have him examined within one week of purchase in order for everything to be "valid". The pet may have been nervous, but clearly, she had nothing to fear. When they got to the hospital, he was treated like a rockstar by every staff member!

"Kathy, take Ares back so everyone can see how beautiful this baby boy is! You'll love our staff, Ares!"

Was there a reason they talked to him directly? It's not like he understood what was happening. He doesn't even know his own name! And what's with the motherese when they spoke to the puppy? The goo-goo gah-gah, smacking of the lips, and blowing bubbles in his face was slightly concerning. I was half expecting a pacifier to come out and adoringly slapped into his gummy little mouth.

To the ladies at Dr. Rodriguez's office, I hate to break it to you, but Ares is a canine - not a human baby.

Dr. Rodriguez was not working this past Saturday, but she made a special trip to visit the vermin. She has never done that for me. In fact, no one has ever given me that kind of reception when I come through the door. It's mostly speaking of me in third person as if I'm too dumb to understand, accompanied by assorted 'pet names' that I personally find insulting.

"Is that Mr. Kitty? He's so big!"

"Do we have Mr. Zeus in there? I'll check him in for you, Ms. Sabatini."

"Is Mr. Snookums feeling alright? Do you think Mr. Snookums would like some belly rubs?"

Note to homo sapiens everywhere: Putting Mr. in front of something doesn't make it alright. I think we can all agree that if I called you Mr. Fat-in-the-Rear, Mr. I'm-Too-Lazy-To-Even-Reach-For-The-Remote, or Mr. Good-For-Nothing-Freeloader, you'd find it pretty annoying and irritating. Guess what? We felines do too!

I would like to be spoken to directly the next time I go to see Dr. Rodriguez. I normally wouldn't stoop to this level, but in an effort to seek equal feline rights, I plan on doing what I call a "Dateline Trap". Most people are familiar with Dateline NBC and how they hold undercover sting investigations to reveal the truth. Well, this is no different.

I'm going undercover all right:

When I reveal the truth of this to the masses, they will have no choice but to change their biased, felinism ways. Just as human females fought for the right to vote, minorities fought to earn better jobs and pay, and people everywhere fought for the television series, Firefly, to have its own movie (Serenity), I too will fight for my right to be addressed directly and not in third person.

Thursday, April 09, 2009

It wasn't that hard getting onto the computer this morning. Normally, it would have been a real chore because fatty would have been trying to document the happenings of the house, but since he's too busy moping and being a pita (pain-in-the-ass for those not in the know), I had no trouble at all. Can we not all agree he is a bit...dramatic?

Anyhoo...

I did manage to get one picture of the guinea pig. Zeus keeps ranting on and on that its a puppy, but I think he must have a streak of paranoia in him. (Of course, I would be one to know so I feel confident in stating this.) I think he just creates these scenarios so he has something to write about, similar to The National Enquirer.

Great read, by the way.

There are several reasons this is not a puppy. The rodent is not big enough to be a puppy. He chirps like a mouse! His eyes are bulbous and always darting to and fro. Only guinea pigs have eyes that are too big for their heads. Oh, did I also mention he has no tail? Everyone knows that's a staple for puppies so clearly, this is not a canine.

And since it is a guinea pig, if it gets out of control, I'll eat him. He does look pretty tasty. Those hind quarters are packed with meat. I know quality when I see it.

I am providing the following picture as my evidence. You would think that with a scientific brother like Zeus that he would have figured this out before me, but this just goes to show how you can be completely book smart but not street smart. He needs to get over himself.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

I thought we had agreed that we would make the human pet miserable, force her to her knees, bring nothing but sadness when this holy terror arrived. We had done so well too. As soon as she had arrived, our hisses in unison made her cry. (Forget the fact that she had been tired, hungry, and worn out from the day. I know it was us!)

The human pet knew from that initial moment that we would not take this laying down. I have done nothing but ignore her. If she walks into a room, I leave. If she offers me food, I will not eat. If she decides to come near me to pet me, I do not purr. I have been a solid rock of protest, and my antagonizations were nearing our goal.

But no, Isis, you had to break down and become a mother.

What has gotten into you?

Just because you cannot reproduce doesn't mean you decide to have some sort of instinct to take care of this raggedy-ass floppy mess!

Everything was going fine until you decided to walk into the bedroom and jump onto the bed with the human pet. You laid down next to her as she cradled the snotnosed punk in our sleeping spots and observed him. You even purred! Now, she believes there's hope, and you know why?

YOU! You have given her hope. You have fed her idea that this will somehow all work out. Have you learned nothing from me? Hope is dangerous to give humans because once they have it, they will not deter from it. They will always believe anything is possible, and now, because of you, she has hope that we will all get along with the tiny pooper.

It's bad enough I was betrayed by my own pet, but to be betrayed by my own sister is too much. I am seriously considering leaving this house as I can see I am only an outsider in my own domain. The next time you see me in the hallway, just keep on walking.

You are dead to me.

P.S. If you grab the camera and take photos of him, I promise you - you will be double dead to me. I want no record of his existence. I will erase him from this Earth. Don't even think about it.

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

The wonderful people at I Can Has Cheezburger? sent me some encouragement to help me feel better about the situation at home. (If I were more awake, I'd tell all now, but no one in this house slept thru the night.) Enjoy the photos, and I promise to reveal all the horror tomorrow!

Monday, April 06, 2009

As the sun rose in the east, she quickly stole out the door. In her hands, she carried an empty crate, but I could tell she had filled it with nice, soft things including a somewhat freaky heartbeat pillow. Upon closer inspection, I was shocked to see my favorite blanket made by DK placed inside! Oh, the nerve of that woman.

She grabbed some bottled water, granola bars, fruit, and sandwiches and placed them into a medium-sized tote. She reviewed over her directions, checking them twice. I knew just by looking at her that she was becoming nervous, but I didn't really have any sympathy for her.

Yesterday, she bought me catnip buds, a new feather wand, and a new scratching post. She even secured new food bowls for both Isis and I so we wouldn't need to share food anymore. I simply was not fooled. I knew it was only a mere ploy to try to get Isis and I happy, to win our hearts over to her evil ways.

I hope you get lost on the way to that puppy, human pet. I hope you never find him. I hope your TomTom lies to you. I hope you turn around in frustration. I hope you cry.

I hope a lot of things, but mostly, I'm hoping you don't bring him back here.

Saturday, April 04, 2009

Some of you might remember the last time I went to see Dr. Rodriguez, one of my supreme arch enemies. That woman has been nothing but a pain in my feline ass for as long as I can remember. Normally, I could care less if she graduated from Texas A&M, owned two dogs and two cats at home, or possessed a good bedside manner.

Now, though, I really don't give a damn.

This woman is trying to steal my sexual prowess!

As if there's even that much to steal!

Isis and I had our annual exams this morning, and for once, I lowered my head and decided to go with the so-called "flow". I let Dr. Rodriguez pet me, exam my ears, feel along my belly, and even poke at my gums. She spoke to me calmly, whispering sweet nothings, but I wasn't fooled. I knew she had bad news for me.

That's why I wasn't surprised when she told me that my body was rejecting my own teeth.

"Um, they're my teeth, and unless I'm mistaken, the last time I checked, they're a part of my body. I thought every part of me was getting along so well," I said.

"Well, Zeus, we don't understand it, but some cats produce an enzyme in their old age which attacks the teeth. You seem to have this problem. No one knows why it happens or what triggers it, but some of these teeth have to go," Dr. Rodriguez replied.

The look I gave her neared frustration. "Excuse me, but have you seen me? I'm a svelte fifteen pounds. Lady, I need to eat."

"No worries. You'll be able to eat just fine," she said with a chuckle.

Oh really? No worries? Last time I checked, the ladies don't like a toothless, gummy feline. It's bad enough I don't have my hoohahs, but now, she wants to take my teeth. My chances of ever finding a female are slowly fading into the perpetual sunset over Eunuchville.

I cried.

Isis, on the other hand, wasn't about to be handled by Dr. Rodriguez. She poofed out, performing her classic 'blowfish kitty' routine. She growled, hissed, spat, and then right when Dr. Rodriguez thought perhaps Isis was warming up to her, she went on an all-out attack, complete with flailing claws.

Isis ran to the human pet and cowered on her lap. The human pet, though, did not help her. She put Isis back on the table and laughed. You heard me: Laughed. I wanted to smack her. What kind of pet am I raising?

As always, I'm the one with the problems. Isis never hears any bad news when we go to see Dr. Rodriguez. I think that woman plays favorites, but that figures: Females always stick together.

Friday, April 03, 2009

She likes to think she can, but more often than not, I would compare her skill to Elaine's masterpiece from Seinfeld. My pet likes to hoot and hollar just like Elaine. She claps and throws her hands into the air as well. The only thing separating the two is my pet's dances are not so choppy and erratic.

Let's study another point:

2) My human pet will dance over anything.

She got a mocha latte for free at the local coffee house. Incoming dance. She received her biweekly check for doing her job. Incoming dance. She busted out a beat subconsciously, realized it, and now, must make sure it was not in vain. Incoming dance.

Hold those thoughts. (Feel free to take me literally and print this post out. I'll wait.)

Let me take you to last night. I am sitting next to the human pet as she plays on PokerStars. I am softly washing away the grime of the day, content in the quiet of our den. She is fixated on the glowing screen, clicking the words 'Fold', 'Check', 'Raise', and 'Call' with precision. She occasionally lets out a grunt or two, but she's focused, clearly poised to make a move.

And then it happens...

I call that the I've-got-pocket-Kings-and-you-don't-know groove. Oh, you haven't heard of that one before? I'm not surprised. I suppose then it's safe to assume you also don't know of the I-just-won-more-than-500-chips slide or the elusive I-can't-believe-I-went-all-in-on-a-weak-Ace jig.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

I made the human pet go to bed early last night because she had a big test this morning. She is taking the final required certification test for her Masters. Should she pass, she will be a certified ESL teacher. Of course, if she doesn't pass it, then she'll be repaying her scholarship to the amount of $30,000.

No pressure, human pet!

Just think of how Isis and I (Who cares about the puppy?) will starve to death if you can't pass this test. That should be more than enough inspiration to get you the grade you need. If, for some reason, you don't succeed, don't expect me to be here when you come home.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

I would like to thank Curlz and Swirlz, Pinky and Ash, and Jasmin for passing along this lovely Lemonade award. I do constantly try to show attitude in everything I do, and sometimes, I tend to get carried away with myself. I can only hope that my attitude is received in which my attitude is given. (Somehow, at 11:30 at night, that line seems really kickass, and I'm sticking with it.)

I want to thank long time friend and supporter of the blog, MacVet's Pets for passing onto me this great award for outstanding creativity. I certainly hope I can live up this award's implications. Bet you wish you earned this one, Francesca and Sharkey!

As for who these awards should go to next? Hmm. I believe I will let you tell me where to bestow them. Have a suggestion? Leave it in the comments today so I can get to know the blogosphere a bit better.